by HD Smith
“I haven’t broken any of the rules,” I said.
Fuck—was this Purgatory? It wasn’t like there’d been a sign on the portal or anything. And considering Mab’s taunt about my supposed appearance in her realm two weeks ago, I really hoped I hadn’t just time travelled to my doom.
His lip curled up in a knowing smirk. “Irrelevant, lass, as your presence is required at the estate of the Countess of East Harrington.”
“The Countess of East Harrington?” I said. “Who the hell is that?”
He laughed, but didn’t clarify.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said, as if stating it made it fact.
“I don’t believe you’re in the position to refuse me,” he said, rubbing the pad of his thumb against my bare arm. “Look around, lass, there’s nowhere to run.”
I glanced around, then fixed my gaze on the hand around my arm.
He chuckled. “Aye, I suppose you’ll want to try.” Releasing me, he took a step back. Crossing his arms over his big chest, he waited, as if daring me to run.
I cocked one of my eyebrows and sent a mental command to my watch. Which way?
I’d stopped wearing the watch after leaving The Boss’s employ last spring. I’d left it and the phone in my old apartment—not wanting him to use either to track me down. Now that I was back it was once again on my wrist. It was no longer the conduit to using my power, but it still gave really good directions. And I never had to worry about what I was wearing. It had the built in feature of morphing to my current look—retro Swatch watch style today to go with my jeans and t-shirt.
I sensed rather than saw the hands point to the right. I turned to leave.
In a flash I heard the snap of his whip and felt the sting as it coiled around my waist. He jerked it, spinning me to face him. With a flick of his wrist it uncoiled, before immediately wrapping around me, trapping my arms at my sides.
With a cocky grin he said, “Hold,” in Ancient. The whip tightened, causing me to gasp. “We could have played nice, lass. Now look at you, all trussed up, and still nowhere to go.”
“Screw you. The Devil—”
“Has no idea you’re here.” He turned and walked toward his horse, pulling me forward.
He was right. The Boss had no idea I was here. He wasn’t going to expect me at work on Monday. I doubted he’d give me the week I requested, but still, he wasn’t going to send Quaid after me for a few days. He might have someone watching Death, but I was trapped here with this stranger, not hiding out with my ex-lover. With my luck, I’d be dead before The Boss decided I was missing. Worse, there was the possibility that this was really two weeks ago, and anything could happen between now and the time The Boss decided he needed to find me. Great.
I returned my attention to the stranger when I heard a clank. He’d removed a length of chain from a pouch on the horse’s saddle. I attempted to take a step back, but the whip held me in place.
“The Devil will pay for my safe return,” I offered. At least I hoped he would.
The Highlander actually snorted.
“Harry will pay,” I countered. Unless there was some unknown treaty I’d broken, or perhaps a future version of me stepped on a butterfly in the past and now voila I’m the property of the Countess. Sadly it wasn’t as impossible as it sounded, but exactly how Harry would respond to a valid claim.
As if I hadn’t spoken, the Highlander attached the chain to the whip’s handle, then looped the other end around the horn of the saddle. He left me standing there and returned to his camp. He rolled up his sleeping mat and kicked dirt over the fire.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m the Bounty Hunter,” he said, stepping past me to attach his bedroll to the back of the saddle.
I chuffed and rolled my eyes. “Bounty Hunter? What the hell does that mean?”
He looked me up and down. “Lass, it should be fairly obvious.”
I gave him an incredulous look. “So, no name, just Bounty Hunter?”
He nodded.
“I can’t use your name against you, so why not tell me?” He said nothing. “Fine, I’ll call you Boba Fett.”
He narrowed his eyes—confused?
“Star Wars—Bounty Hunter,” I said, but his expression didn’t change. “Okay, I can see I’m not ringing any bells. Fine, don’t tell me who you are. Tell me why you’re taking me.”
He turned to check his saddle, and gave a tug to my chain. Otherwise, he ignored me.
I lowered my eyes to my watch. I’d used it once before to summon Harry. He’d made it for me after all, and apparently it knew exactly how to reach him. “Go.” I wanted to say, “go home,” but I didn’t get the words out. The Bounty Hunter clamped his hand around my watch and disappeared.
“Shit!” I screamed as the watch heated. It flickered in and out of visibility, switching between every form I’d ever seen it take, as if trying to fight its way free. “Stop,” I yelled as the skin under the band began to turn pink. It was hurting, burning me. “Release,” I shouted, and the clasp gave way.
The Bounty Hunter pulled it from my wrist. It folded in on itself as if he was crushing it with his fist. A flash of white light pulsed around it, before it shattered into a million tiny specks of glittery dust. The Bounty Hunter rematerialized, slapping his hands together to remove any remaining particles.
I stood there, mouth open, looking at the shiny remains of my watch as it swirled and mixed with the dirt then disappeared on the wind.
He mounted his horse. “Yah!” he yelled, pulling me from my stupor.
“You killed my watch,” I said, although I wasn’t sure he was listening. “I liked that watch.” I actually hated the watch, but it served a purpose, and it gave good directions.
He ignored me.
I trudged along behind him like some dog on a leash. The path was littered with rocks. If I wasn’t careful I’d trip over one and wind up face first in the dirt. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. I wondered if he had any water. My eyes were drawn to his saddlebag, but snapped forward when I stumbled a bit and sent a half-dollar sized rock skittering. I shook my head to clear it. We’d only been walking for about thirty minutes, but my feet were starting to feel heavy. I licked my dry lips, trying to moisten them.
I tried several times to engage the Bounty Hunter in conversation, but he clearly wasn’t a talker. My legs were tired, and it was as if the dry air lined my mouth.
“Do you own a car or maybe another horse?” I asked, not really trying to annoy him, but we’d been walking now for over two hours. I was tired—and my mouth was so dry I could barely stand it. I needed water.
I sensed a pagan coming our way, the unexpected sensation causing me to misstep and stumble forward.
“Step back,” he said, as I tried to look around the horse.
“Screw you.”
I sucked in a startled breath as the Bounty Hunter tightened the whip around me. I was unable to breathe as a shimmer of will enveloped me. I tried to speak, but there was no air in my lungs to form words.
“Hide,” he said in Ancient.
I watched helpless as the pagan I’d sensed rode passed us on his own horse. Fuck—we were in Purgatory. I was sure of it now, although I don’t believe the pagan sensed us. Not that this was the Old West, but he hadn’t tipped his imaginary hat to the Bounty Hunter, or acknowledged us in any way.
I sucked in a lungful of air when the whip eased its hold.
“Damn, you,” I wheezed out, “are you trying to kill me?”
“That would be counterproductive, lass.”
“At least confirm it’s not two weeks ago.”
He laughed. “Show,” he said in Ancient.
The magic that covered us lifted away, but the pagan was too far past us now.
“Can we stop for a while?” I asked, swiping my dry tongue across my even drier lips.
“No,” was his clipped response.
“Then can I ride the damn horse?” I stammere
d, almost tripping again.
No response.
“Ugh,” I muttered. “I’m being dragged off to the estate of the Countess of East Harrington, which—with my luck—is probably some other name for Mab,” I groused, “and Mr. Bounty Hunter here,” I muttered under my breath, “who isn’t a pagan, druid, or demon, won’t even stop for an effing break.”
No surprise, he ignored me.
Another hour had passed, and I was seriously starting to think my dry mouth was becoming a chronic condition. “Why are you doing this to me?” I croaked, my legs so tired I was tripping over my own feet. I was exhausted and needed a break. “Why not a motorcycle? You’re all bad-ass and tough, you could pull off a motorcycle. Or two horses—I mean, you do realize I’m about to pass out, right? Are you just going to drag me along behind you when I do?”
“For God sakes, lass, please shut up.”
I laughed. God, I was so thirsty. My eyes were drawn to his pack again. I was sure he had some water in there. I licked my dry lips as if that would help. My head was swimming. The sun was high overhead. What had I been saying? I laughed again. “And to think I only thought my problems were prophecies. I mean, horsemen and dragons and dead girls.” I giggled—what was wrong with me? “I’m not making any sense.” I licked my dry lips. “I should probably stop talking now.” He made a grunt of acknowledgement. I chuckled. “He is so annoyed with me.”
“I’ll be less annoyed, lass, if you keep your thoughts in your head, and quit your chatter.”
“Keep my thoughts in my head. Am I talking out loud?”
“Yes,” he growled. “Useless drivel.”
I snickered. My vision blurred a bit as I focused on his saddlebag. “Fine. I’ll talk. We can sit for a while and drink water and talk about the Name Caller. I have to find her—and kill her.”
I almost slammed into the back of the horse. The Bounty Hunter had stopped dead in his tracks.
“Good,” I said, practically falling to the ground. “I need a break.” I was so thirsty.
At this point I wasn’t even sure how long we’d been walking. I closed my eyes. I just needed to rest, to regain my strength.
I tipped forward, which jarred me to full consciousness. I caught myself before falling over.
“Don’t go to sleep,” he said, tugging the chain he’d just pulled.
My head pounded. I glared up at him, but I couldn’t see his face clearly. My eyes were drawn to his saddle bag. What is wrong with me? I opened and closed my dry mouth. Why was I so dehydrated? I just needed something—anything—to drink.
“Water,” I said, barely able to form the word.
The Bounty Hunter stared for a moment. “Are you sure, lass? You know where we are, right? There are consequences to taking food and drink—when you’re not a pagan.”
“Too late, I’m already bound to Mace. So give me the damn water.” I’d willingly taken Pagan Cake from Mace last spring, which gave him complete control of me in Purgatory. It sucked, but there was nothing I could do about it now.
I looked up when I heard the Bounty Hunter rustling around in his saddle bag. “I believe you’ve been misinformed,” he said. “That binding won’t hold, not here. Things are a wee bit more complicated than you might expect.”
“The binding held before, and anyway, you’re not a pagan.” I knew that was part of it. The only way I’d be bound to someone by the laws of Purgatory was if I took food or drink from a pagan. He wasn’t a pagan, so it didn’t matter what I took from him.
He pulled out an ornate silver flask, which practically glowed in his hand. He looked like a guy that would carry a rugged military canteen, not some fancy heirloom that needed to be polished. Of course, I didn’t care as long as he planned to share. My mouth watered and I thought of a crisp green apple glistening with beads of dew. I licked my lips, and gazed up at the flask longingly.
“How do you expect to play in the big leagues, lass, if you only know half the rules?”
I laughed, but winced when my lip cracked. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. I hadn’t been without water that long. I shouldn’t be this thirsty.
“A smart woman would ask a few questions first, unless you like being a puppet?”
I looked up, catching the glint of the silver flask. I wanted it—no, this wasn’t right. I looked away from the flask. I couldn’t concentrate with it in sight. “Fine, what do I not know?”
“A binding outside of Purgatory won’t hold if you take food or drink from a pagan inside Purgatory. And once you’ve done that, it lasts forever. No going back.”
Mace’s binding last spring had been made in Grand Cayman, which, now that I thought about it, was why Mab could have taken it from him when we were at her castle in Purgatory. So there was a way out of Mace’s control, but that meant I had to bind myself to another while inside Purgatory.
I held out my hand for the flask. “You’re not a pagan, so please give me the water.”
“I’m not a pagan by birth,” he said, implying that he was a pagan by other means.
“I’m not sure I care. Based on the rules, if I drink the water, I’ll be bound to you, not Mace, which isn’t a bad deal—at least I don’t think you’ve got uncontrolled daddy issues and a hatred of me because you think the Devil favors me above all others.”
He chuckled. “Aye lass, that I don’t.”
I squinted, trying to focus on him, but the light of the flask was distracting me. I stared, transfixed, as it called to me, as if only it could quench my thirst and cure my ills. My body ached as if the flask contained the water of life.
I averted my eyes. This wasn’t right. I shouldn’t be this thirsty. Why did I want the water so bad? Why didn’t I care that I’d be bound to the Bounty Hunter? Did ending Mace’s bond mean that much to me? It did. Being free of Mace’s control would be worth being bound to the Bounty Hunter. I held out my hand for the flask, but didn’t look directly at the glimmering canteen.
“Mace is that bad, aye?” With a smile, he turned up the flask and took a long drink. Replacing the cap, he tossed me the container. I barely caught it with my trapped arms.
It no longer shined. The silver was now dull and lifeless.
I opened it. Turning the flask upside down, two measly droplets of water splashed to the ground. “Is this a joke?” I asked.
I slung the empty flask back at him. My head was starting to clear, and I was pissed.
He picked up the flask and shoved it back in the saddlebag, removing another canteen, this one a wineskin made of hard leather. He stared at it for a moment, then looked at me as if considering something. After another beat, he held it out. “Do you still want the drink?”
My eyebrows drew together. Why had he done that? My head wasn’t hurting now, but my mouth was still dry. I was still thirsty, but I could say no. There was no overwhelming desire to take the wineskin. I considered everything that had just happened. My odd behavior, my incessant need for the water, how the flask had dulled and lost its appeal. Had the silver flask been spelled to make me want it? I remembered the sight of the flask bringing forward the image of the crisp green apple in my mind. I’d watched as the beads of dew glistened and rolled off.
“Fuck.” I remembered now why the apple came to mind. It was the first thing I’d seen after being trapped in Mab’s nightmare prison known as the Deeps. I’d wanted the apple so much so that I’d almost forgotten the warning not to eat or drink anything while in Purgatory. Had I eaten that apple I would have belonged to Mab forever. But that wasn’t the important part of the memory. The apple had belonged to Mab, but her guards had been the ones to deliver it.
I met the Bounty Hunter’s eyes. He wasn’t the owner of the silver flask. “Is this one yours?” I asked, tilting my head toward the wineskin.
He nodded.
“So, which one of the five pagans that want me dead convinced you to bring me a spelled flask of water?”
“And here I was thinking you weren’t worth your salt.�
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“Fuck you, and give me the damn water.”
He laughed.
I held out my hand, waiting. He considered the flask again, then handed it to me. It was full and heavy with water. Trading Mace’s bond for the Bounty Hunter’s wasn’t a bad deal—at least this way Mab wouldn’t ever have it.
“Can you loosen the whip just a bit?” I asked.
With a wave of his hand the whip slackened, allowing me to awkwardly drink from the flask.
I didn’t feel any different. Of course I hadn’t felt any different with Mace either until we’d been in Purgatory together, and only then after he gave me a command. I stared at the empty wineskin, praying this wasn’t a mistake.
I turned the flask over in my hand. It was weathered and worn. A ray of sunlight illuminated an uneven set of scratches on the backside. Curious, I tilted the flask and saw what looked like a child’s handwriting scrawled across the leather. It was a language I didn’t recognize, but the translator deciphered it easily. A rippling red word floated above the scratches. “Ronin,” I whispered, and felt the wind stir the dust at my feet.
The Bounty Hunter stilled, as if he’d heard me.
“Stand,” he barked.
Without conscious thought I stood, and the whip tightened around me.
He pulled the wineskin from my hands, glaring at me. “Never speak my name again,” he ordered.
I tried to say it again, but the word died on my tongue.
The ache I felt in my legs brought me back to reality. He’d told me to walk, and so that was what I had to do.
Complete control sucked.
Chapter 9
“You aren’t anything I recognize,” I said, trying to coax Ronin to talk.
“I suppose you know everything about the worlds?” he asked.
“No,” I said, trying not to sound defensive, “but I have a few talents.”
He chuckled. “Annoying chatter being one of them?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well you brought me here,” I muttered.